Or Else
by L.M.Lewis
Summary: The truth comes out.


Disclaimer: These are not my characters and I make no profit from them.

Thanks, Georgi, for the plot bunny!

**Author's Note: **In "Flying Down to Rio" Mark is wary about Hardcastle's relentless pursuit of former CIA agent Peter Avery, especially when the judge says he intends to follow him down to his Caribbean haunt, San Rio Blanco. Mark rightly points out that Avery will be on his home turf and he and Hardcastle won't have any back-up from the local authorities. The judge brushes off his concerns and, when Mark still refuses to cooperate, utters the oddly euphonious threat: "It's San Rio or San Quentin".

Seriously?

**Or Else**

by L.M. Lewis

The moment he'd uttered it he'd felt a twinge of regret. Not that he hadn't been entirely in his rights, issuing the ultimatum, it was just that the look on McCormick's face—disappointment, or maybe even a hint of disgust—had taken him aback.

Mark's protests, which had been done with humor up to that point, came to a sudden halt. Had they not been sitting in the gatehouse—McCormick's residence—Hardcastle had the feeling the younger man might have stomped out.

He might have preferred a little stomping instead of this sullen acquiescence. The strange thing was, they'd done stuff at least this dangerous over the past three months—heck, McCormick had _volunteered_ to take on Tina Gray, and she'd had more notches in her gun than Avery, almost certainly.

On the other hand, the kid had a point. Avery would have the home field advantage down in San Rio, not to mention the lack of an extradition treaty between that country and the States. He brightened suddenly.

"Look," he said cheerfully, "I'm serious about this vacation thing."

McCormick raised one eyebrow but kept his comments to himself.

"No, _really_," Hardcastle reiterated. "We've had a helluva run the past three months. Look at how many guys we've put in the pokey."

Mark frowned and cocked his head but still said nothing.

"And, anyway," Hardcastle shrugged, "I won't deny I'd like to nail Avery dirty, but it's not gonna happen in San Rio, know why?"

"'Cause he's bought off all the local judges and cops?" Mark ventured cautiously.

"Nah," Hardcastle waved that away and then pointed at the file, "it's in there. San Rio, they're heavy into bananas like you said, but they're also the number one destination for folks who are on the outs with the IRS or in trouble with the feds."

Mark leafed the folder open again, scanning quickly until he paused on page two. "No extradition, huh? _Told_ ya. He's got this rigged six ways to Sunday." Then he frowned again. "So why _are_ we going down there?"

Hardcastle smiled benignly. "A little looking around, that's all. Avery knows that part of the law as well as we do. He'll know we can't touch him and he probably has bought off the local cops. We're no threat to him so he isn't going to bother with us. You'll see."

Mark sighed. "'Looking', that's all, huh?"

"Scout's honor." Hardcastle made the requisite sign with three fingers.

Mark's spirits seemed to lift a little, but that abruptly fizzled into a more serious mien.

"But you'll need to tell Dalem."

The judge got his expression under control pretty quick, but McCormick must have misinterpreted his astonishment.

"I mean, he's still my P.O., isn't he?"

"Yeah, well, _officially_."

"Okay, then," Mark nodded, "I can't even go outside the state without him _officially_ knowing about it, right?" Leaving the country, well . . ."

Hardcastle couldn't help it. His face split with a grin as he shook his head. "Just for your information, hotshot, I _was_ planning on telling him. But since when are you so concerned with the fine print in your parole agreement?"

Mark shrugged. "Might have something to do with your track record. 'Looking around', sure. Next thing you know I'll be looking through the bars of some rat hole San Rio lock-up. I know how this stuff goes."

The judge thought this argument didn't line up with what they'd been discussing just a few moments earlier, but he wasn't sure if McCormick realized it.

"Or more likely," Mark sighed, "you tick Avery off, he pops you, and I'm stuck trying to explain to Dalem why I'm on the lam in a country that has no extradition treaty with the U.S."

Hardcastle gave him a hard stare. "You know, I kind of think the coming back to tell him about it would take care of the problem."

"That's because you've never been on the wrong side of a P.O.'s desk," Mark pointed out bluntly; there was no humor in his tone or his expression.

The judge gave a quick grimace and a wave of the hand. "Okay, I said I'll talk to him. I will." He looked at the table between them. "All this for one sandwich?"

"You never know which meal's gonna be your last," Mark said philosophically. "I want mine to include mayo and sliced tomato." There was a pause and then he added, in a conciliatory tone, "I said I'd make you one."

Hardcastle accepted the olive branch. "Got any pimento loaf in that pile?"

"No," McCormick made a face, "just decent cold cuts—ham and turkey." He put his own sandwich down and started assembling a new one, not even having to ask what was or wasn't wanted.

The judge watched him for a few seconds then edged his chair back and reached for the phone. He hesitated a moment, receiver in hand, his finger poised over the dial. Mark rattled off the seven digits without looking up from what he was doing and after a moment added on the four numbers of the extension as well.

Hardcastle let out a barely-audible, "Hmmph," as he dialed.

There was a pause. Mark pushed the plate with its newly-completed sandwich over toward him just as Dalem's secretary picked up.

"Say 'hi' to her for me," Mark whispered, earning a sharp 'shh' from the judge.

"Not you, kiddo," he muttered into the receiver. "It's Milt Hardcastle—is your boss in?"

Dalem was, apparently. The young lady who graced his outer office asked, very cheerfully, if the judge would please say 'hi' to Mark for her, then told him to hold for just a sec.

"She says 'hi'," Hardcastle grumbled to the guy who'd made his sandwich.

Mark grinned, all the earlier contretemps apparently shelved behind what must have been a very happy recollection.

"_Judge?_" Dalem sounded surprised as he came on the line, and there was a growling edge to his voice as he shot off, "_Don't tell me—_"

"Nah, everything's fine here," Hardcastle assured him. "Just touching base with you. Got a little project coming up and I figured it'd be a good idea to keep you posted."

"_I appreciate that. What's up?_"

McCormick had taken another bite from his sandwich and despite the munching there was still an absentminded smile on the younger man's face. The judge's stern look didn't do much to squelch it.

"I've got a lead on a gun runner and I want to follow it up. I'm going to be taking the kid out of state."

"_Nevada?_" Dalem sounded puzzled. "_You don't need to run that by me. Of course I'd like it if he managed to stay out of jail this time._"

"Nah, not Nevada. I guess I should have said 'out of the States'. We're heading over to San Rio Blanco."

There was a sudden silence at the other end of the line, as though Dalem were dredging up some recollection. It probably wasn't a very deep dig. San Rio had a reputation.

He finally heard the man clear his throat and start up, with only a hint of hesitation and no deference at all. "_Milt, you've got to be out of your mind. Whose idea was this little jaunt, anyway, his?_"

"No," Hardcastle said indignantly, "_mine_."

He saw Mark snap back into focus at the change in tone and cast him a sharp glance.

"_Look, I don't know what line of bull that guy's been handing you, but San Rio is a bad idea. No extradition treaty—_"

"I know that," Hardcastle sputtered. He bit his tongue for a whole second. McCormick was listening intently now. He wasn't sure why he hadn't thought this through. This was a phone call he ought to have made from the privacy of his den while Mark was out doing something involving power tools.

"_I think this has got to be a no, Milt. No way am I letting one of my ex-cons head to San Rio._"

"It'll be my responsibility."

"_Uh-uh._ _Once he's in the wind, I'm the one they'll want the report from._"

Hardcastle could see that generalities weren't going to cut it here, and if he offered to call Dalem back later, the man's suspicions would be raised even higher. He frowned and took a deep breath.

"Listen, John, you got this all backwards. The trip was all my idea. Hell, McCormick's been telling me right from the start what a lousy idea it is, and he's the one who insisted I give you a holler, make sure you were in the loop."

"_Hmm_."

"Hell, he didn't even _know_ about the non-extradition thing until I told him about it, a couple minutes ago."

"_Well, now he's probably rarin' to go_," Dalem observed.

The sarcasm was thick. From where he was sitting, McCormick might not be able to make out the words, but the tone—sharp and caustic—had probably carried. Hardcastle was looking straight at him. The smile was definitely gone now. A grim expression had taken its place.

"Look," he said into the receiver, still staring right at McCormick, "this guy we're going after, Avery, he's bad business. Ripped off an armory this morning and got away with enough munitions to start a small war. He's dangerous. I need somebody I can trust for backup."

"_You trust McCormick?_" Dalem said doubtfully.

"Yeah, I sure as hell do," Hardcastle said emphatically, not having removed his gaze from the man in question

There was a long and doubt-ridden sigh from the other end of the line. "_I dunno, Milt_."

"Just say yes. My responsibility. I'll put it in writing."

"_Okay_ . . . '_yes_'." Dalem still sounded none too content. "_Just make sure the letter's on my desk before you head to the airport._"

"Will do." Hardcastle smiled as he hung up the phone.

"See," his smile became a grin, "nothing to it."

And McCormick was grinning right back at him.


End file.
